


Angel Hands

by aBarlowRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Singer's Panic Room, Breakfast, Ficlet, Heavy Petting, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, One Shot, Protective Castiel, Rough Kissing, Short, Short One Shot, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aBarlowRose/pseuds/aBarlowRose
Summary: The panic room is angel-proofed. The rest of the basement isn't.





	Angel Hands

Dean lay on the cot in Bobby’s panic room, trying to catch a couple hours of rest before the sun rose. He and Sam had been out most of the night finding, digging, salting and burning the remains of a particularly snarky ghost, formerly a high school biology teacher with a penchant for pickling unsavory things. Sam, not being very fond of the panic room, was using the couch on the first floor, and Bobby was upstairs in the only proper bedroom.  

It was surprisingly easy for Dean to fall asleep— his reality was more terrifying a nightmare than his dreams ever supplied— and as he stared through the open iron door and tried not to think about anything, his eyes gradually closed.

It might have been twenty minutes, it might have been an hour, but at a small sound within the basement, Dean’s eyes shot open and he reached for the gun under his pillow.  

“It’s just me,” a voice said from outside the door, reverberating metallically around the room.  

“Cas, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean sat on the side of the cot and rubbed a hand over his heavy eyelids.

“I was watching over you. You left the door open.”

“Well, I’m not very well going to shut myself in a metal box unless I’ve got some nasty shit waiting for me outside,” replied Dean pointedly, and Cas frowned at him from the doorway.  

“I’m not ‘nasty’, Dean. And it’s not my fault you’ve proofed the room against angels.” He nudged the doorsill with a toe and drew back. "Just standing here makes me feel uneasy.“  

"Then why don’t you leave?” Dean asked moodily.

“I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Dean stood exasperatedly, moving toward the door. “I’m in a  _safe room_ , you idiot.” He came to a stop on the side of the door jam opposite Cas and looked at his face— really looked at it— for the first time in a while. His scruff was a bit longer than the last time Dean had seen him, but those blue eyes were just as roiling as always, and they smiled a little at the scrutiny.  

“You  _were_  in the safe room.”

Dean looked down to find the space between Cas and him had closed, and his feet now rested between Cas’s and the panic room sill. He raised his head again and Cas blinked at him contentedly, nose only a half foot from Dean’s.  

“You need a shave,” Dean muttered, looking down and rubbing his hand through his hair. Cas made a move to turn for the stairs, but Dean grabbed at his arm, turning him back. "We can do that later.“  

Dean strode forward the single pace Cas had taken and pushed a kiss onto his lips. It was hard and sloppy, the fatigue of the night combining with impatience, but Cas didn’t mind. He faced Dean and returned the kiss, lips parting slightly to allow Dean’s tongue access.

Dean’s hands were wrapped in Cas’s trench coat, and Cas had a hand in Dean’s hair and another on his waist, pulling him closer, pressing their bodies together harder than necessary.  

"Cas, buddy,” Dean gasped and grinned. "You know I don’t mind it rough, but you’ve still got angel hands.“ Cas smiled and loosened his grip, unapologetic of the bruises he was sure to have left.

A muffled curse came from the direction of the stairs, and Dean and Cas whipped around to find Bobby standing there, mouth agape, hand on the bannister for support.  

"That I didn’t need to know,” he managed, and looked away as the angel and the hunter grinned at each other wolfishly. "You idjits want breakfast,“ he asked uncomfortably, "or are you all set?”

“I don’t eat breakfast,” Cas replied easily, “but Dean needs a meal.”

“I can answer for myself, you know,” came Dean’s goodnatured reply. "But yeah, Bobby, breakfast would be great.“

Bobby turned and hustled up the stairs, muttering to himself about "panic rooms” and “unsupervised” and “sausages.”

Cas smiled at Dean and placed a small kiss on his cheek before grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the stairs. "Let’s go, Dean. We have to keep your body well-fed; wouldn’t want you to get frail— or my angel hands might break you.“

Dean thought of all the different things he knew those angel hands could do, and his stomach growled hungrily.  

"I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly, slowly, the true thirst approaches. Thank Chuck for Bobby or I'd have had a mess on my hands.
> 
> Thank for reading. Please comment any tw/cw tags you'd like to see applied.


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